


one-year blogiversary drabbles

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:50:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: In celebration of myone-year tumblr blogiversary, I wrote a bunch of Marvel drabbles, based on requests that people sent in. Mostly reader-insert, but a couple of other pairings too.





	1. Cold Feet (Steve/Reader)

You’re wearing two pairs of pyjama pants, a thermal vest, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a thick, cable-knit sweater. Your feet are wrapped up in three pairs of your fuzziest socks. There are five blankets piled on top of you. Yet, despite all the layers, you’re fucking _freezing_.

“Why the fuck did we have to go to Russia in the middle of winter?” you grumble. Your teeth are chattering violently, making it hard to talk.

The mountain of blankets beside you stirs sleepily.

“Because the Russians decided to go and build a nuclear warhead, that’s why,” Steve grumbles, his voice muffled. “Go to sleep, sweetheart, we’re leaving at 6.”

You groan in frustration. You’re not sure that you _can_ sleep in these conditions. If the freezing cold wasn’t enough, you also need to contend with the howling winds, the rattling window panes and ominous creaking that resonates through the house. The noise you can probably handle, but the cold? _That_ is going to make sleep an impossibility.

In an effort to warm yourself up, you scoot over to Steve’s side of the bed, hoping to leech off some of his body heat. He runs hot, and you see no problem in using him as your personal space heater. You free your feet from your tangle of blankets and shove them in the general area of Steve’s legs.

“Ow!” he yelps, “What the hell are you—“

“Stevie I’m _freezing_ ,” you whine, inching closer as your feet wriggle their way into his blanket nest.

 **“Quit touching me. Your feet are cold,”** he complains.

In response, you wedge your feet firmly between his thighs, sighing in contentment as you start to regain sensation in your toes.

“Asshole,” Steve grouses, even as an arm emerges from the darkness, snaking around your waist to pull you to his chest. You hum appreciatively as you tuck your frozen nose in the crook of his neck and plaster the rest of your body to his side in your best impression of a clingy koala.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” you ask sleepily.

“Go to sleep,” Steve says affectionately, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.


	2. I'm Your Husband (Steve/Reader)

You groan as you stretch your arms over your head, working out the sore muscles in your back. Moving into a new house is never an easy job, and the fact that you’re four months pregnant makes everything that much more difficult.

Thankfully, a number of your friends have stepped in to make life easier. Sam and Bucky are carrying pieces of furniture up the stairs, whilst Wanda is busying herself in the kitchen, putting away the crockery. You squat down to pick up a cardboard box that is filled with some of your clothes, planning on bringing it up to your bedroom.

“Sweetheart!” Steve calls, voice panicked as he dashes over towards you. “You’re not supposed to be doing any heavy lifting!”

You snort. “Steve, there’s hardly anything in here, I’m _fine_.”

Nonplussed, Steve pulls the box out of your hands and puts it back into the pile of boxes that you had picked it up from. “Why don’t you go sit down, honey?” he suggests, rubbing your back soothingly, “Me and the boys have it covered, we’re almost done here.”

“Stevie, I’ve been sitting down for the last hour!” you whine, “Let me help with something, at least.”

Steve sighs exasperatedly as he wipes the sweat from his brow using the hem of his t-shirt. You try not to ogle at his abs, and fail miserably.

“Fine—you don’t wanna sit down?” Steve asks, as he steps towards you.

“No, I’d rather—hey!”

“Then I’ll _make_ you sit down,” Steve says firmly, as he scoops you into a bridal-carry. His strong arms cradle you gently as he makes his way upstairs.

“Steven, I can walk perfectly fine — why the hell are you carrying me?”

 **“I’m your husband. It’s my job,”** he deadpans. “You wanna be useful? You can stay upstairs and tell Bucky and Sam where to put things.”

You pause, considering the offer. “Do I get to through food at them and catcall them while they work?”

Steve grins maniacally. “Honey? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


	3. Hard Truths (Steve/Bucky/Tony)

“Me and Bucky never had much, growing up,” Steve says, as he arranges the presents underneath the Christmas tree. “I always told him not to get me a present–”

“And I always got one for him anyway,” Bucky finishes. “S'not like you didn’t do the same, punk.”

“Yeah, yeah, now we’re all a big happy family, hurrah,” Tony says sarcastically. “Barnes, put that tinsel up a little higher, would you?”

“Hey guys!” Peter says cheerfully, as he bounces into the common room. “I was just looking for you, I wanted to know if–”

He stops dead in his tracks, eyes widening as he takes in the scene.

“What…what’re you doing?” he asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Getting the Christmas tree set up,” Bucky replies.

“And arranging the presents too,” Steve adds.

“Arranging…the presents?” Peter echoes, “I–I thought presents came from Santa.”

“Kid, that’s probably one of the biggest lies that your Aunt May ever told you,” Bucky says, shrugging a shoulder indifferently.

“You mean – Santa Claus isn’t real?” Peter asks, voice small and dejected. “My life’s been a lie?”

Sensing the impending meltdown, Tony steps in and tries to turn the situation around.

“Aw, Pete, it’s not–”

“I-I gotta go,” Peter says abruptly. He dashes out the door without a second glance.

Once he’s left the room, Tony turns to Steve and Bucky and sighs dejectedly.

 **“And that’s how you ruin a life,”** he says, spreading his arms wide, **“Congratulations.”**

Steve swallows. “Guess we better not tell him about the Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okok, realistically, I know Peter’s old enough to know the truth about the origin of xmas presents, but he’s an innocent bean in my eyes, so we’re rolling with that.


	4. I Lost Our Child (Stucky/Reader)

You’re relaxing under a tree, leisurely sipping on your favourite drink. The park is filled with joyous laughter as children run around and play. Beside, you, Sam is lying on his back, possibly taking a nap. 

Your peace is shattered when Bucky suddenly appears beside you, wheezing like he’s just sprinted a hundred miles. 

“Y/N,” he pants.

“Bucky, what the hell?” you ask, whirling around to face him. 

**“I lost our child,”** he says, voice wild with panic.

You frown in confusion. “Buck…we don’t have a child.”

He huffs in frustration. “No, I mean–Steve!”

You look at him skeptically. “Babe…Steve is not our child.”

“He’s basically our child. He acts like one. He–whatever, never mind — I lost him.“

Your confusion deepens. “How the fuck did you lose him? He’s like, six foot — how did you—”

“I don’t know!” he cries, raking his fingers through his hair and tugging on the ends. “One minute he was behind me, the next minute he wasn’t! I’ve searched the whole park.”

Beside you, Sam stirs, pushing himself upright as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “What’s a man gotta do to get some peace around here?”

“Sam,” Bucky says desperately, “I lost—”

“Steve, I know, I know. Chill man, I got this.”

He stands up and cups his hands around his mouth, creating a makeshift loudspeaker.

“BUCKY BARNES IS A CRIMINAL!” he roars, making you jump in surprise. 

“Really, Wilson?” Bucky says dryly, “Was that necessary?”

“Who the fuck said that?!” demands a familiar voice. 

“Steve!” Bucky cries, scrambling to his feet.

“I didn’t actually think that would work,” Sam says, amazed. A proud smile graces his face. 

“Y’all are weird,” you murmur, smiling fondly as you watch Bucky tackle Steve to the floor in a bone-crushing hug.


	5. Heartbreak (Wanda/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: miscarriage

“This stir-fry’s delicious, Wan!” you exclaim. 

“Thanks,” Wanda murmurs dejectedly. 

You cast a concerned glance over her. She is sitting across from you on the dining table, chin propped up on one hand. Her shoulders are curled inwards and there is a deep crease between her brows. In her other hand, she holds a fork, which she is using it to push the vegetables around her plate aimlessly. 

Something is amiss.

“Wanda?” you ask, reaching across to touch her wrist. “You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

Wanda freezes, dropping the fork onto the plate with a loud clatter. She clasps her hands in her lap as she bows her head, her hair swinging forward to shroud her face in a dark curtain. 

“I have something to tell you,” she says quietly. 

You swallow nervously. Your heart is thumping like a frenzied bird against your ribs, threatening to burst out of your chest. 

“What is it?” you croak. 

“I lost our child.”

It’s amazing how four words have the capacity to turn your entire world upside down. An eerie chill spreads through your bones, and your heart does a sickening lurch in your chest. A torrent of emotions and a hundred different questions are running through your mind.

Months of fertility treatments and thousands of dollars have led to this: heartbreak. 

Instinctively, you get out of your chair and rush to Wanda’s side, pulling her into your arms as big, fat tears stream from her eyes. 

“It’s okay, honey,” you murmur, rocking her soothingly, “We’ll be okay.”


	6. Short Skirts (Stucky/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied smut, nothing graphic.

“Honey? C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” Steve yells.

“Coming!” you shout.

“Coming,” Bucky mutters, from his position on the edge of the couch. “That’s what she said five minutes ago.”

Steve huffs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he paces the living room. He watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye, admiring how handsome he looks in his crisp navy blue suit. It has a similar cut to Steve’s charcoal grey one, but Bucky just manages to carry it off better.

“At least it’s only Tony’s Christmas party,” Steve says, “He won’t mind if we’re a little late.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. “I s’pose. Either way, can we just celebrate the fact that for once, I’m not the last one to be ready?” he says dryly.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, but you’re last nine times outta ten, Buck.”

“Progress is progress, sweetheart.”

“I think they only call it progress if they see a sustained — _wow_ , honey,” Steve gasps, as his gaze lands on you.

You look absolutely stunning. You’re wearing a long-sleeved sequined top that is tucked into a sleek black skirt with a scandalously short hemline. The strappy black heels that you’ve put on help elongate your legs, whilst your festive makeup and dangly earrings emphasise your features beautifully.

“Doll,” Bucky says, voice strangled. Steve startles; he didn’t realise that Bucky was standing beside him.

You smile brightly, twirling on the spot to show off your outfit. “Do you like it?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Steve croaks, unable to tear his eyes away from you. “Doll, you look—”

“Leggy,” Bucky finishes. “I-I mean, that’s a lot of leg, sweetheart.”

 **“The skirt is supposed to be this short,”** you say, your brow creasing with worry. “I mean, I dunno, I could go change—”

“Please don’t,” Steve says quickly. He shares a look with Bucky, and from the darkness of his pupils, Steve knows that they’re both thinking the same thing.

“Stevie, d’you think Stark’ll mind if we show up an hour late?” Bucky drawls, as he casually saunters over to you.

“Late?” you echo, as you let yourself be pulled into Bucky’s arms. “Why would we be late?”

“Because neither of us can wait, sweetie,” Steve says, dick twitching with interest as he watches Bucky grab two handfuls of your ass possessively.

Bucky hums in agreement as he nuzzles his lips against your jaw. “We can’t be patient, honey, not when you look this good.”


	7. Drunk (Bucky/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: drunken shenanigans

“Thanks for coming,” Nat says, as she squeezes you in a quick hug.

“Thanks for having us!” you reply, “It was a great night — sorry we stayed so late.”

Clint waves you off. “Nah, s’fine, Y/N, we all had fun, that’s what matters.”

“I don’t think your boy’s gonna have much fun tomorrow morning, though,” Nat says, looking pointedly at Bucky.

He’s slumped on the couch, cradling a nearly-empty bottle of vodka in his hands. His eyelids keep drooping shut because he’s so tired. Given that it’s almost 2AM, the fact that he’s this sleepy is unsurprising.

“Yeah, I’d better take that vodka off him,” you mutter.

As you gingerly perch yourself on the couch beside him, Bucky snuffles sleepily, rubbing his cheek into the cushion in a rather good imitation of a cat. You smile, your heart filling with warmth at the sight. 

“Bucky,” you say softly, “Hey–Buck, it’s late, we’d better get going.”

Bucky shakes his head as he narrows his eyes and pouts petulantly. “I don’t wan’ go,” he slurs, “I’ll go with Stevie.”

“Steve’s gone home, remember?” you say gently, “He left an hour ago.”

“I don’t wan’ go,” he whines. 

You sigh internally. A drunk Bucky Barnes is freakishly similar to a cranky two-year-old. 

**“Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not,”** you say firmly. “I’m your ride home and that’s that.”

“I’ll walk,” he says confidently. 

“Really?” you ask, “Can you even walk in a straight line?”

“Yes I can!” he insists. “Lemme show you.”

In an attempt to prove his point, Bucky sets the bottle of vodka that he’d been nursing onto the table, then heaves himself off Natasha and Clint’s sofa. The two of you are at their house-warming party, which had started to wind down a good two hours ago. You’ve been ready to head home for the last hour and a half; the only thing that stopped you from leaving was Bucky, as it had proven impossible to pry him away from the couch and his precious vodka. 

“It’s fancy!” he’d protested, “S’all the way from Russia, y’know?”

Now that Bucky’s a lot sleepier, you’re hoping that he’s going to be more willing to listen to you. 

Having pushed himself to his feet, Bucky sways unsteadily for a moment, before staggering two steps forward. He looks like he’s about to fall flat on his face, so you swoop in and catch him, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Okay, big guy,” you say, petting his bicep. “Let’s get you home, huh?”

“No,” he says.

You sigh in frustration. “We can stop by a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way back?”

He pauses, head cocking to the side as he considers your offer.

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles, “But I’m getting 12 nuggets _to myself_.”

“Whatever you say, Buck,” you murmur, as you plant a fond kiss on his cheek.


	8. Date Night (Bucky/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied sexy times (not really, but kinda?)
> 
> also, this drabble features a gender-neutral reader, so yay!

Managing three kids when you’ve both got full-time jobs is no easy feat, but you and Bucky have been making it work. However, family life doesn’t come without its sacrifices; spending your evenings as a family means that you and Bucky have been unable to get much time alone, just the two of you. Most nights, once you’ve crawled under the covers, you’ve conked out within seconds.

That’s why tonight’s date night is special.

Steve had offered to let the kids have a sleepover at his place, so you’ve got the house all to yourselves until lunchtime tomorrow. You haven’t been on a date with your husband for a what feels like an eternity, so you’re fully planning on making the most of your evening.

Bucky’s taken you to a nice restaurant in downtown — it’s a bit of a splurge, but you’ve gotta indulge in some self-love every now and then, right? You’re dressed up in a pretty blue dress for the occasion, whilst Bucky is wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of grey trousers.

“This is nice,” you say, smiling at your husband, who is sitting opposite you. The flickering candle in the middle of your table-for-two casts a warm glow over his face. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy rom-com movie, but you love it nonetheless.

“It is,” Bucky agrees, “I mean — I love our kids, but when’s the last time we had a night to ourselves?”

“Too long ago,” you reply.

“We should get Steve to watch them more often,” Bucky muses.

“We should.”

“It’d give us more time alone together,” he adds, winking salaciously.

You snort. “Bucky Barnes, if you think I’m gonna add another child to the three we already have, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Aw, but doll, you look so hot when you’re pregnant!”

The server arrives with your food before you can formulate your reply. Tonight, you’ve opted for a pasta dish with a name you can’t pronounce, whilst Bucky has decided to go with a classic burger and fries.

As you eye his dish, you begin to regret your choice; those fries look mouth-wateringly delicious. You reach across the table and try to sneakily snatch one off his plate. Bucky slaps your hand away before you get the chance.

“Hey!” you protest.

“Mine,” Bucky retorts, stuffing a fry into his mouth for emphasis. He gives you a smug smile as he chews it obnoxiously.

“Sharing is caring,” you say, “Now give me your fries.”

“Get your own,” he says.

“You’re mean,” you grumble.

“The meanest,” Bucky agrees. He makes a big show of selecting the longest, crispiest fry from the pile.

You narrow your eyes in jealousy as you watch him take a big bite out of it.

“I’ll take you to dessert at that place you love,” you offer desperately, “You can even have a whole brownie, all to yourself. I promise.”

His eyes widen. “Take some,” he says quickly, pushing his plate towards you.


	9. A New Job (Sam/Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic features a gender-neutral reader :D

You’re in the middle of pulling the pasta bake out of the oven when you hear the familiar sounds of your husband coming home; the jingle of his key in the lock, the quiet creak of the door opening, the thuds and thumps as he puts his boots and coat away.

“Sam? I’m in the kitchen, dinner’s ready!” you call.

“Hey, honey,” Sam says, as he saunters into the room. You set the oven dish down on the counter and shuck off your oven mitts, before turning around to face him, ready to say hello. He’s wearing a plaid shirt tucked into a pair of chinos, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Hi, Sammy, how was the VA?” you ask, leaning to peck him on the lips.

“Mm, same old, same old, I guess,” he says, as his arms loop around your waist. “Oh — I heard something interesting today.”

You hum curiously. “What was it?”

Sam leans back, fixing you with an unreadable expression. “A little birdie told me that you’ve been offered a job at Stark Industries. In their London office, to be exact.”

You inhale sharply in surprise. “Where’d you hear that from?” you ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “Is it true?”

You bite your lip and cast your eyes down. “Yeah,” you murmur.

**“And when did you plan on telling me about this?”**

You sigh heavily.

You’ve been dreading this moment. The letter had appeared on your doorstep two days ago, and you’ve been using every excuse you can think of to not break the news to your husband. Though the pay _would_ be amazing, you know that Sam has strong ties to DC, and would not leave it so willingly. You’re not prepared for the argument that you’re sure is about to ensue.

Sam clears his throat. You wince internally, realising that he’s still waiting for an answer. “Uhh….this week? Maybe? Possibly?”

He snorts, unimpressed.

“Look, I didn’t know what to say—”

“You tell me that you’ve got the job offer of your dreams, that’s what you say!” Sam cries, “Honey, I don’t care if we have to pack up our stuff and move halfway across the world–you’ve been wanting this job for _years_.”

You blink rapidly, unable to believe what you’ve just heard. Did he–really just? A startled laugh bubbles out of your throat. Your shoulders sag in relief and you slump forward, hugging him tightly.

“I thought you’d be mad, or something,” you mumble, voice muffled by his shirt.

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad for?” he asks incredulously, “My honey’s just landed a job as SI, it’s time to celebrate! Pop the champagne, baby, we’re—”

“Sammy, we’re broke as fuck, the only kinda champagne we’re popping is the sparkling grape juice kind.”

“Well, that works for me, honey.”

“You go out to the store and buy it, then.”


	10. We're Safe (Steve/Bucky)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present you with: a missing scene from Civil War

Steve is aching in places he didn’t know he could ache.

He is bloodied and bruised and Bucky’s lost his arm — _again_ — but at least they’re both still alive.

That’s enough for Steve. Life has dealt him cruel hand after cruel hand; he’s learnt to be grateful for the small things.

They’d had to abandon the Quin outside the Siberian base, fearing that Tony would be able to track them, had they flown it. In an unfathomable act of generosity, T’Challa has kindly offered them passage to and refuge in his home country, promising them that the UN would not be able to find them if they stayed there.

His jet is sleeker and faster than the Quin, but this means that it is also smaller, so Steve and Bucky are crammed together in the back. They are sat opposite each other, close enough that their knees are touching, but the contact reassures Steve that Bucky is alive and breathing.

T’Challa had wrapped a covering over the remains of Bucky’s metal arm, preventing the live wires from sparking and accidentally setting something on fire. He’s also given Bucky some morphine to ease the pain, but judging by the tightness of his jaw and from the way he’s holding his body, Steve knows that he is still in agony.

Bucky’s eyes are closed and his head is tipped back, resting against the curved wall of the jet. Steve takes the opportunity to drink in the lines and planes of his face, still beautiful despite the splatters of blood streaked across it. His hair is disheveled and sweaty, yet Steve cannot shake his irrational desire to press his nose against those strands, to breathe in that familiar, earthy musk that he has come to associate with his best friend.

“Quit starin’ at me,” Bucky murmurs, snapping Steve out of his trance. His eyes are still closed, but there’s a dry smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.

Steve huffs. “Jus’ makin’ sure you’re okay, Buck,” he replies, keeping his voice low. He casts his gaze to the right, looking to see if T’Challa has overheard them — that doesn’t seem to be the case.  When he turns his attention back to Bucky, he finds that he is watching Steve with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Stark was your friend. I’m sorry you had to…y’know.”

Steve shakes his head. “No–it’s not your fault, Buck.”

“But—”

 **“After everything…I’d still choose you,”** Steve says, “It–it was never a question. Tony was my friend, yes, but you—”

He cuts himself off, breaking Bucky’s gaze with a self-depreciating sigh. What would he say, how would he end that sentence? You’re my lover? My soulmate? It’s not true, but Steve desperately wants it to be.

“I’m what, Stevie?”

Steve shakes his head, reaches forward to squeeze Bucky’s knee affectionately.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, as he forces a smile onto his lips. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable drabble masterlist](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/177356249400/blogiversary-drabbles/)
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day!


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